Caves, not Ostriches
written five or six days ago, who knows, I've lost all track of time...
More rain. Rain, rain, rain.
Before leaving for Africa, my general ignorance about the continent meant that I prepared for the trip with just two thoughts in mind: (1) don’t bring or eat more than you can lift, and (2) Africa is HOT-—no sense lugging lots of sweatshirts or long pants, just tank tops, shorts, and sandals.
Needless to say, I will retire the few cold weather clothes I did bring as soon as I return home. I won’t want to see them ever again.
But, rain or no rain, we pressed on. From Plettenberg Bay, we headed to the (reputedly) ‘hot, dry Karoo’ (dry?) to the small city of Oudtshoorn, ostrich farming capital of za world. It’s a charming little town, built largely during the 1870-1880s—the ostrich feather boom—when ostrich feathers were all the rage in Victorian fashion. The outskirts of the city are chock-a-block with grazing ostriches, reared today for their eggs, leather and meat. They even sell the HUGE ostrich eggs in the supermarket (14 yolks in each egg!). I considered frying up an ostrich egg omelet, but got lazy and decided on Cup-O-Noodles for dinner instead. The days and days of rain had sapped my sense of adventure.
When I looked over the itinerary before booking this trip, I’d say one of the main things that sold me was the opportunity to claim victory in an Ostrich race. Yep, we were going to RIDE AN OSTRICH. No, not just ride…RACE. It’s too funny; I had to do it.
Well, life doesn’t work out the way you plan. (Irony intended.) Since it’s been raining so much, the ostrich farms were closed to visitors. No ostrich ride for poor Betsy.
We did go on a tour of the Cango Caves though. It was good to see. It’s got the usual cave features—-stalactite and stalagmite dripstone formations—-but Cango's are decidedly ‘prettier’ than others I’ve seen, resembling delicate ruffled drapes.
The cave was cool, pretty, whatever. I’m jaded. Perhaps I’ve been in too many caves. For me, the cave paled in comparison to the kick I got out of our guide, a Shakespearean thespian trapped in the station of a cave guide. This is a guy who takes his job very seriously (think: the Alamo guide in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure). I cannot replicate in written word the added drama that followed each “Ladies and Gentlemen…”, but it was pretty great. Mind you, I wasn’t laughing at him. Rather, I was delighted by his (perhaps uncalled for) uber-performance.
As a finale, he even sang part of an opera aria—quite well—in order to demonstrate the acoustics of the cave. (Funny thing...I predicted that he was going to sing to us just five minutes before he did so.)
Ah, it’s the little pleasures in life.
More rain. Rain, rain, rain.
Before leaving for Africa, my general ignorance about the continent meant that I prepared for the trip with just two thoughts in mind: (1) don’t bring or eat more than you can lift, and (2) Africa is HOT-—no sense lugging lots of sweatshirts or long pants, just tank tops, shorts, and sandals.
Needless to say, I will retire the few cold weather clothes I did bring as soon as I return home. I won’t want to see them ever again.
But, rain or no rain, we pressed on. From Plettenberg Bay, we headed to the (reputedly) ‘hot, dry Karoo’ (dry?) to the small city of Oudtshoorn, ostrich farming capital of za world. It’s a charming little town, built largely during the 1870-1880s—the ostrich feather boom—when ostrich feathers were all the rage in Victorian fashion. The outskirts of the city are chock-a-block with grazing ostriches, reared today for their eggs, leather and meat. They even sell the HUGE ostrich eggs in the supermarket (14 yolks in each egg!). I considered frying up an ostrich egg omelet, but got lazy and decided on Cup-O-Noodles for dinner instead. The days and days of rain had sapped my sense of adventure.
When I looked over the itinerary before booking this trip, I’d say one of the main things that sold me was the opportunity to claim victory in an Ostrich race. Yep, we were going to RIDE AN OSTRICH. No, not just ride…RACE. It’s too funny; I had to do it.
Well, life doesn’t work out the way you plan. (Irony intended.) Since it’s been raining so much, the ostrich farms were closed to visitors. No ostrich ride for poor Betsy.
We did go on a tour of the Cango Caves though. It was good to see. It’s got the usual cave features—-stalactite and stalagmite dripstone formations—-but Cango's are decidedly ‘prettier’ than others I’ve seen, resembling delicate ruffled drapes.
The cave was cool, pretty, whatever. I’m jaded. Perhaps I’ve been in too many caves. For me, the cave paled in comparison to the kick I got out of our guide, a Shakespearean thespian trapped in the station of a cave guide. This is a guy who takes his job very seriously (think: the Alamo guide in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure). I cannot replicate in written word the added drama that followed each “Ladies and Gentlemen…”, but it was pretty great. Mind you, I wasn’t laughing at him. Rather, I was delighted by his (perhaps uncalled for) uber-performance. As a finale, he even sang part of an opera aria—quite well—in order to demonstrate the acoustics of the cave. (Funny thing...I predicted that he was going to sing to us just five minutes before he did so.)
Ah, it’s the little pleasures in life.